


Served

by Otonymous



Category: MLQC: Fandom, love and producer, 恋与制作人 | Liàn Yǔ Zhì Zuò Rén | Mr. Love: Queen's Choice (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Language, F/M, Stilettos and Stockings, Vaginal Sex, mild food kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otonymous/pseuds/Otonymous
Summary: Go ahead and give Victor a piece of your mind.





	1. Hit and Miss

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> This story is a BIG first for me, as I’m finally trying my hand at a something longer than a one-shot! At the risk of sounding vague, I thought it would be fun to toy around with Victor for a bit, so let's see how this works out ;) . 
> 
> This chapter is smut free, but you best believe some action is coming up LOL!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it, and as always, happy reading!

“Fuck you, Victor.”

One blink, then another. A slackening of the jaw as his mouth hangs open in surprise, practically imperceptible if you weren’t already staring intently at his face. You find the sight strangely satisfying and it goads you onwards.

“I’ve fucking had it with you and your demands. Our relationship is purely professional; why do I have to get your goddamn lunch? Go get it yourself!”

Victor had been picking apart every second line in your proposal, and you just about had enough of his attitude after the word “idiot” had been tossed around for the tenth time.

Yes, you had been counting.

And when he ordered you in that tone of voice to get his lunch from the LFG office kitchen, that was the final straw that broke the back of an extremely tired, hungry and irritated camel.

At the back of your mind, you’re vaguely aware that you’ve scrunched up the proposal you spent all week preparing in your hand. Victor’s copy lay on the imposing avant-garde desk in the middle of his office, pinned under the critical tip of his golden pen.

The ensuing silence, uncomfortably loud, stretches on for much longer than necessary for you to have made your point. So you decide to speak.

“Listen-“

“I’m sor-“

Except that Victor opens his mouth at the exact same time, and you question whether your ears were working properly. _Was Victor Li actually apologizing?_

“Sorry, you go first.” Suddenly feeling sheepish about your outburst, you gesticulate towards Victor, gaze flitting over his face en route to the buckles that decorated your taupe flats. But what you saw in that split second scared you.

Were the features of Victor’s face even capable of drawing into such an expression? Always self-possessed and brimming with a commanding confidence, the uncertainty in the violet-indigo of his eyes didn’t suit him. The discomfort stirring in the pit of your stomach made you shift from foot to foot like a child awaiting impending punishment.

“Ahem. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

You never thought you’d hear the deep bass of his voice even so much as express remorse, let alone apologize.

“That’s okay. I mean...I shouldn’t have swore at you. My outburst was out of line. Forgive me.”

“That’s fine,” his reply is clipped as he reaches for the intercom button on the phone on his desk. “Jane, bring me the package in the kitchen. The one in the fridge. Thank you.”

_Why’d you bother asking me to get your lunch if your secretary could’ve done it?! _The exchange you just witnessed had you thoroughly annoyed all over again, silently fuming until his secretary entered after two sharp raps on the heavy wooden door.

“Here you are, Mr. Li. Will you be requiring anything else?” Jane was sharply dressed and spoke confidently as she placed a brown paper bag on Victor’s desk. She was also devastatingly beautiful, a fact that annoyed you a lot more than it should have. You relaxed your grip around the document in your hand as you stood a bit taller, wishing you wore heels instead of flats today.

“That’ll be all, Jane, thank you.”

_Jane._ The way he said her name made you wonder how yours would sound rolling off the tip of his tongue. Would it be equally pleasant? But then again, anything sounded better than “idiot.”

Drawing himself up from his seat, Victor towers over you, imposing in the crisp perfection of his dark suit. He holds out the paper bag and his next words effectively signal the end of your meeting:

“I’ll email you the rest of my thoughts on your proposal. Have it amended for Friday.”

* * *

Four of the most juvenile looking bowls, each hand painted with the face of a dog bearing the most ridiculously cute expression. Each containing the most ridiculously delicious pudding you had ever tasted in your life, the stuff of dulce de leche fantasies spun from the kitchen of Souvenir. And an accompanying note, filled with the same handwritten scrawl that had dissected your proposal with brutal precision earlier that day, reading:

“As incapable of self-control as you are, try not to finish it all in one sitting unless you’re deliberately courting a stomachache like an idiot.”

And on the paper bag that had waited for you in the fridge of the LFG office kitchen, your name printed in the same hand.

Your heart ran the gamut of emotions: surprise, happiness, but above all, a deep remorse so unsettling you immediately tapped on Victor’s contact on your phone without thinking.

When he finally picked up after the fourth ring, uncharacteristic for Victor, the first thing you heard was the enticing laughter of a sultry soprano in the background.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

His voice is raspy, prompting you to glance at the time on your open laptop at the foot of your bed.

1:45 am. _Shit._

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize-“

“What do you need?”

_Deep breaths._

“I...I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier today. Well, I guess technically, for what happened yesterday.”

“You already did. Put it from your mind, I’ve already forgotten about it.”

Laughter again, this time, fainter in volume. Subconsciously, you found yourself comparing the voice to Jane’s. Or did it have the lilting quality of Loveland City’s latest cinematic sweetheart, Chik? The head-to-toe in haute couture phenomenon who seemed hell bent on sweeping Victor off his feet as she did with the rest of the city’s fawning population. At least, that’s what the tabloids would have everyone believe.

Shaking your head free of useless thoughts, you refocused on the conversation at hand, hoping to catch Victor before he got impatient and hung up.

“No, Victor. I meant to apologize for misinterpreting your intentions this afternoon. I had no idea you asked me to get your lunch because...because you actually had a surprise gift planned for me.”

“...”

You were used to Victor’s awkward silences by now, on the phone and by text, waiting forever for the wave of ellipses to materialize into words that seemed far too simplistic to require that much forethought.

“If it’s any consolation, the pudding was delicious.”

“Did you already eat it all?”

“No, I only had one! What do you take me for? Wait, don’t answer that, I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Hm. Seems like there is something you do know after all.”

“Is this a retaliatory dig for that time I laughed at you for asking whether it was possible to delete a sent text? You know Mr Li, next time, don’t broadcast your sad lack of technological prowess on the internet if you don’t want to be made fun of.”

“Is this the real reason why you called me so early in the morning? To pick a fight?”

“What? No. I told you, I...I misunderstood your intentions and I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. I also wanted to thank you. I can’t believe you remembered me complimenting your pudding! That was months ago!”

“Well, you wouldn’t shut up about it. Instead of letting one’s heart rule their head, I guess it’s your stomach that reigns supreme. But you’re welcome. Is there anything else?”

Normally, you couldn’t wait to be free of Victor, whether it was from the intensity of his gaze as you pitched ideas his way, or the scrutiny he subjected you to over the phone, asking twenty-one questions to which you only knew the answers to two.

So why did his asking “is there anything else” rankle you now?

“Um, just one more thing. The bowls — they’re so interesting. You wouldn’t happened to know the artist who painted them, would you?”

Silence again. You strained to make out that twinkling laughter you heard earlier in the background as you waited for the LFG CEO to speak. But the airwaves were silent save for the rise and fall of Victor’s breath telling you he hadn’t hung up yet.

“I painted the bowls. If you don’t like them, feel free to throw them out. And next time, don’t call me Mr Li. Victor is fine.”

_Click. Beep, beep, beep._

It took a moment in your flabbergasted state to realize you still held the phone to your ear, the screen having gone dark long ago.

Victor just never struck you as the arts and crafts type. The dogs with the lopsided faces told you the same.


	2. In Your Capable Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Served...the story continues (how terribly descriptive of me, I know XD )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy chapter 2 of the slowest burn I’ve ever written so far. Don’t worry, we will all eventually go out with a giant bang in the end - pun intended LOL

“Can I touch you?”

You were surprised when the LFG CEO asked. Men like him usually reached out and took what they wanted, caring not a whit for what others thought.

That was the way of the world of expensive suits and even more expensive watches.

But Victor’s voice was so soft, deep tones rumbling in the base of his throat like thunder approaching from miles away. And your mind struggled to pin down the exact moment at which lightning struck.

Was it the point when he knelt before you, one large hand cradling the back of your heel as the other slipped the stiletto with its broken strap off your foot? Or was it the moment when you spied the hesitation in his eyes as he looked away, giving you privacy to lift your skirt and unclip the torn stocking from its garter, grimacing as you rolled it past your scraped knee?

You refused to entertain any other options for fear of withering away from embarrassment. It was bad enough that Victor was present when you face-planted on the concrete steps leading up to the LFG Tower. It was worse that you had been asking him about the source of the mysterious laughter in the background of your phone conversation from two nights ago when you missed the top of the next step.

In a flash, Victor had you cradled in both arms, and you became hyperaware of the bulge of his biceps beneath his charcoal grey suit. Goldman gasped so loudly you immediately looked over to see shock plastered on his face, the glasses almost sliding off the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks warmed.

“Thank you, Victor. I’m okay now, you can put me down.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. You just proved you’re not even capable of walking and talking at the same time.”

_Did the man just smirk?_

“Seriously, I’m a grown woman — I can take care of myself. Now can you please, _please_, put me down. If not for my own reputation, I have that of my company to consider.”

“She’s right, Mr Li. The tabloids will have a field day if they even so much as catch a whiff of a woman walking by your side. There’s no telling what tomorrow’s headlines will read if they have photos of you carrying her!” Goldman interjected, sweat already starting to bead on furrowed brows.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Victor finally relented, his chest pressing subtly against your body to send heat rushing through your veins. And when your feet finally touched ground before the revolving doors, he bent to whisper in your ear — so close the brush of his breath was almost obscene:

“At least let me take care of that scrape.”

So it was that you found yourself in Victor’s office, Loveland City’s most eligible bachelor looking up into your eyes from where he knelt at your feet, one large hand securing the back of your scraped knee as the other pinched an alcohol swab between forefinger and thumb.

“Can I touch you now?” Victor repeats, louder this time to draw you from your thoughts. You nod, trying to ignore the disconcertion you felt when your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his face softening with relief.

_What is wrong with you? This is Victor, for god’s sake — Victor! The man who makes you flinch with a single glare!_

“Good. For a moment there, I thought you’d start complaining like a child about how this will sting—“

“Ow!”

Hand immediately drawing back, Victor studies you with wide eyes, looking like he accidentally stepped on a puppy’s paw. “Sorry. I’ll try to be gentler.”

Once more, he sweeps the moist swab over your abrasion. This time, however, the sharp edge of its sting is made considerably duller by his warm breath blowing softly over your skinned knee. And when he tilts his head just so, angling his face towards yours to ask, “Does this feel ok?”, the sight so erotic all you can manage is a nod.

“My mother.” Victor’s deep voice cuts through your haze of lust like a splash of cold water.

“Pardon me?”

“In response to your question from earlier — the one you were asking before you bit the pavement — it was my mother laughing in the background. Well, an old home video of her. She…she passed away some time ago.”

His words hang in the air like incense, slow to dissipate as they infuse the space between you and him with the solemnity of a secret shared.

Keeping his gaze fixed on your knee, Victor’s face betrayed not an ounce of emotion as he aligned a bandage with your wound. Tenderness welled up from the pit of your stomach. The lump in your throat made it difficult to find the right words to say.

“I’m so sorry, Victor. I had no idea.”

“Hm. You seem to be apologizing a lot these days.”

A smile, tiny though it was, transformed his face, and you found yourself looking at the modern chandelier suspended from the ceiling, the detailing of the leather chair you were seated on, the sheen of your nail polish…anywhere but at that handsome expression.

“Ahem. I suppose I have.”

“Talk is cheap though. Don’t you agree?”

“So what do you propose?”

“Show me proof of your sincerity.” Your knee cradled between his hands — large and warm — Victor gently smoothes down the edge of the bandage, thumbs running between the border of adhesive and your skin as he meets your eyes: “Have dinner with me.”

_Thump. Thump. Thump._ Your heart beat so loudly within the cage of your chest, you wondered if Victor could hear it too.

“Aren’t you afraid of the crazy headlines the reporters will fabricate if they catch you in my company?”

Drawing himself up to full height once again, Victor stands imposing before you, eyes sharp and fearless as he speaks:

“Let me worry about that. Now, show me the changes you’ve made to the proposal.”


	3. The Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The saga continues! Part 3 of Served.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Vic hit it or not?! Find out in this chapter…

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I just order in instead?” You ask, scraping the blackened bits off your pan of lasagne before serving a slice to Victor, carefully studying his reaction as you placed the plate before him. “I’m not the best cook there is. In fact, I may even be stretching the truth when I say I’m a decent one.”

You wondered if Victor would deign to indulge in your stash of cup noodles for dinner, pondering whether or not the man even knew what they were to begin with.

To be fair, this was not what you were expecting when he invited you to dinner, confidently proclaiming that he would take care of the tabloid reporters.

Of course they would never engage in a stake-out with their cameras right below your dinky little apartment. It’s not like you were Chik. _Silly me. Should’ve known._

Victor stared at his desiccated piece of lasagne, and you were reminded of the way his eyes had widened almost imperceptibly at the sight of your yaoi manga collection, prominently displayed on the bookshelf. Preoccupied with preparing dinner, you had forgotten to hide it before he arrived. Exactly on time.

“ _‘My Demon Boss is My Butt Boy’…_” Victor had read the title aloud as he ran his finger down the spine, looking slightly bewildered as he scanned the rest of your extensive collection.

“OH! HAHA! These titles…they all become so…so strange in translation! You know how it is! Haha! Anyways, that’s really boring stuff! Dinner’s almost ready! Come have a seat and I’ll pour you a glass of wine! Red or white?”

The sound of your own voice — several decibels louder than what you were used to, as if volume alone could cover up embarrassment — was grating in your ear. You could only imagine how it sounded to Victor.

Quickly leading him away by the elbow, you tried to interest him in the coffee table books on postmodern art that you had deliberately set out for him. The books he was _meant_ to see.

And in the end, dinner burned anyways.

Just as you were about to swap out Victor’s plate with your extensive stash of take-out menus, he says, “It’s fine, thank you. Now would you care to join me for dinner? Or will I be dining alone tonight?”

* * *

_Crunch. Crunch._

Trying not to cringe when you hear Victor take his first bite, you steal a furtive glance at the LFG CEO. His face was blank, not a hint of anything amiss despite the sad excuse of a meal he was being fed. And without your awareness, you smiled.

For his mannerisms spoke of good breeding and were so pleasant to watch; long, tapered fingers transforming knife and fork into the most elegant of instruments. And by the time he brought his napkin to dab lightly at his lips, you were completely entranced.

Lifting his glass towards you, Victor says, “It’s not altogether inedible.”

_Clink._ Burgundy swirls within the bowl of your own wine glass as it meets his across the table.

“Such high praise from the owner of Souvenir himself! Do my ears deceive?”

“Don’t get cheeky. But thank you for the meal. In return…”

_Tap! Tap! Tap!_

He is interrupted by sharp knocking against your window pane, and in an instant, the man is on his feet, brows furrowed as aggression exudes from his tall frame. “What was that?”

Sighing, you bring a hand to your forehead and close your eyes, already knowing who you’ll see behind those blinds. _How in the world are you going to explain to the CEO who never missed a thing that your friend can fly?_

“Don’t worry, Victor. It’s just my friend. He…doesn’t like to use the front door. Please excuse me for a moment.”

Amber eyes narrowed through the glass when you finally drew back the curtains, and you followed their line of sight to see them fixated on Victor’s equally unfriendly face. Sliding open the balcony door, you greet Gavin, still dressed in his uniform.

“Hey! What a surprise! What are you doing here?”

The officer puffs out his chest as he lifts the plastic bags in his hands, sight never straying from Victor when he says,

“I finished work early today and thought you might be skipping dinner again but…” He looks towards the set table, “…I guess I was wrong.”

And just when the temperature in your apartment began dropping, you realize it might be prudent to introduce the two men currently engaged in a staring stand-off in your living room.

“Oh! Sorry, where are my manners! Victor, this is—“

“Gavin.” Victor finishes your sentence, nodding at the younger man who returns the greeting with a curt acknowledgment of his own,

“Victor.”

Wondering if the world really is as small as people said it was, another pair of eyes narrowed as they flit between the men in the room: yours.

* * *

“I got your favourite. Eat as much as you want.”

Gavin heaps more braised pork belly into your bowl before setting the styrofoam container down to happily take another bite of your blackened lasagne. At the other end of the table, Victor clears his throat, a hint of displeasure on his brow as he continues to eat in silence.

Somehow, your dinner for two turned into a meal for three when you couldn’t find it in your heart to turn Gavin away. Plus, whatever he had in those bags seemed much more palatable than what you made.

“Victor, Gavin…you guys really don’t have to eat my food. Honestly, I won’t be offended. I’m mean, _I'm_ not even eating it. Gavin bought so much, there’s more than enough to go around.”

“And miss a chance to eat something you cooked? Never.” Gavin looks in Victor’s direction as he slips the final forkful into his mouth. Then, turning again towards you, he says, “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Can I have another piece?”

Smiling, you rise to refill Gavin’s plate, missing the way Victor’s grip tightened around his utensils before he replied:

“I prefer my meals homemade. One can never be too sure of the quality of the ingredients being used in street stalls and dives.”

The plate almost slipped from your hands.

Quickly returning to the table to see Gavin’s jawline tightening, you jump in to interject before things get bloody from the testosterone rising in the room: “So, how do you two know each other?”

“It’s a long story.”

Having spoken in unison, both men glare at each other. And when your doorbell rang, you had never been so glad for a distraction, hurriedly opening the door to reveal a handsome man smartly dressed in a cashmere sweater and navy peacoat, dark hair falling over sharp eyes as he smiled and held up a paper bag, asking: “Have you eaten yet?”

“Professor Lucien…” You look back towards the dining table to see Victor and Gavin already sizing up the new arrival. Shaking your head in defeat,   
you gesture towards the others, saying, “Care to join us?”


	4. Lady In Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor whips it out...(exactly what remains to be seen) :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re still reading, thanks for sticking around for this crazy ride! Hope you all enjoy this chapter :)

**You: Sorry again about tonight. I had no idea we’d be interrupted twice.**

**Victor: Thrice.**

**You: Oh right, the delivery man.**

**Victor: You’re quite popular.**

**You: Come on, the delivery guy doesn’t count!**

**Victor: No, but the sender of the package does. How do you know Kiro?**

**You: That’s...a long story. Why, are you a fan? Want me to get you an autograph?**

**Victor: What makes you think I don’t already have one?**

**You: Never mind then. By the way, tonight’s dinner doesn’t count. Let me take you out for a proper meal, one that isn’t burnt beyond recognition. I’ll treat you to whatever you want!**

**Victor: ...**

After a solid two minutes, the ellipses were finally replaced by words.

**Victor: Friday after work. I’ll pick you up at your office.**

**You: Ok! See you then.**

Just when you begin to worry about whether or not your account balance can contend with Victor’s upscale tastes, a notification sounds on your phone.

**Victor: Don’t be late.**  
**Victor: And keep Thursday evening free.**

**You: Why Thursday evening?**

**Victor: Just do it.**

**You: But what are we doing?**

**Victor: Must you ask so many questions?**

**You: Must you be so secretive?**

_God. Victor will be Victor._ Rolling your eyes, you relent, thumbs flying across the onscreen keyboard:

**You: Fine. Will there be anything else, Your Royal Highness?**

Suddenly, your phone rings — “Victor Li, LFG CEO” displayed on the screen.

“Hel—“

“Don’t get cheeky.”

The line cuts before you have a chance to respond. Even still, you swear you sensed a smile in the deep bass of his voice.

* * *

Carpets so plush you felt the give in the textile as you walked. The sweet, subtle scent of fresh jasmine in the air. Soft light inviting as it glanced off buttery leather ottomans, highlighting luxe fabrics and elegant hues hung with care on racks like so many pieces of art.

Your palms had started to sweat as soon as you stepped foot in that designer boutique. _Surely Victor knows your company isn’t doing THAT well!_

“Victor, why are we here?” Speaking in a hushed tone, you glance up at him, telling yourself the flutter in your stomach was due to the impending damage to your credit card and not how handsome this dictator looked in profile.

But before he can respond, a saleslady rushes over, smiling from ear to ear. “Hello Mr Li! We’ve been expecting you. The dresses have been set aside as you’ve requested, if you and the lady would please follow me. May I get you anything to drink?”

As soon as you enter a dressing room the size of your apartment, you are greeted by your bewildered expression reflecting off a wall of mirrors. And to the side, a rack of dresses — all of impeccable taste, all carrying price tags with an impossible number of zeroes.

Waiting till the saleslady was out of ear shot, you hiss from behind the door as you pull your blouse over your head. “Seriously Victor, what’s going on? Why am I trying on dresses I could never afford in this lifetime? Wait…don’t tell me…of course! It all makes sense now!”

Seated in a velvet settee on the other side of the door, Victor takes a sip of his espresso, the corners of his lips tugging up into an amused smile. “What makes sense?”

Adjusting the straps of a silk dress onto your shoulders, you reach for the zipper on the side as you say,

“You know, I’ll be your model for tonight. But I warn you, I don’t exactly have Chik’s physique, so the next time you want to buy a girl a dress, you ought to bring her here yourself. All the same, I can’t say I don’t understand you wanting to give your girlfriend a surprise.”

Smile transforms into a frown as espresso flows down the wrong tube, Victor coughing so violently you open the door just wide enough to poke your head out to ensure the man was still alive.

“How can anyone be so thick in the head?” His eyes flash with annoyance.

“What, am I wrong? The tabloids had pictures of the two of you together at the Loveland City Film Festival—”

“Which was sponsored in large part by LFG. As CEO, of course I had to make an appearance on opening night.”

“But what about all the gossip sites saying you took her to Saint-Tropez for a romantic getaway a few months ago?”

“And you believe that garbage?”

“I…I suppose not. So…if not Chik, then…”

Suddenly nervous to see the expectation in his gaze as it searched your own, you retreat back into the dressing room, voice trailing off as you lean against the door.

A revelation had floated in the depths of your subconscious for a while since you’ve known Victor, surfacing periodically with every instance of hard-won praise, every disguised gesture of kindness…every moment when your heart ached to find him studying you with the softest eyes when he thought you were unaware.

But he was Victor Li, the man with the most financial clout in Loveland City. The prodigy of the business world who built an entire empire with his own two hands, all before the age of thirty. Tall, dark and handsome, Victor was considered a highly coveted prize by young and beautiful socialites and celebrities the world over.

He was also the man who held the fate of your company in his grasp.

The idea of you and Victor together was just too unbelievable, and you suddenly felt uncomfortable under the spotlight of his attention, wishing the man had lectured you instead.

For you were used to his sass and sarcasm. What you hadn’t anticipated was…his affection.

To your relief, Victor doesn’t press the issue, waiting patiently as you parade in and out of the dressing room until you emerge in elegant crimson. And it isn’t until you catch his reflection in the mirror — staring intently at the curve of your exposed back — that your cheeks warm to match the shade draped across your body.

Victor swallows, throat bobbing as he nods at you. Then, summoning the saleslady with the slight raise of one hand, he says without ever taking his eyes off you, “We’ll take this one.”

* * *

The drive to your apartment was silent but lacked the usual ease you felt with Victor in his car. The dress he bought for you — cooly whipping out his black card without even so much as glancing at the price tag — sat heavy on your lap, weighed down by the implications of the evening’s events.

In accepting his gift, you couldn’t help but think you were crossing the line from something that was purely professional into…_what? _Just what was it that Victor wanted from you? It was difficult to know, because the man was hardly forthcoming with his thoughts when it extended to anything beyond matters of business.

But then again, what of your desires?

You snuck a glance at him. Features looking like they were chiseled from stone, Victor’s eyes were trained on the road, large hands soft as they rested on the steering wheel. And as his chest rose and fell slowly beneath his seat belt, the rhythm of your own breath unconsciously matched his, that is, until the gentle flex of his forearms — visible with the sleeves of his dress shirt folded up neatly to the elbows — made it race once more.

You knew what you wanted. You just knew better than to ask for the impossible to happen.

“Goodnight, Victor. Thanks for the lift.”

“Wait.” He lays his hand on top of yours, the electricity of his touch rendering you still in the midst of unbuckling your seat belt. Your breath catches in your throat.

Then slowly…slowly…the features of his face draw close, notes of cedar wood and pine warmed by the heat of his body to drift in enveloping currents until all you could focus on was the impossible length of his eyelashes — _how had you not noticed them before?_

Just when the proximity makes you think to close your eyes, Victor reaches behind you to retrieve an elegantly wrapped gift box from the back seat.

“Wait until you’re home to open it.” Breath brushing against the shell of your ear, you fight to suppress a shiver of pleasure, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek.

Then, over as soon as it began, Victor drew away, the air around you suddenly cooler for want of his warm body.

“Also…you looked stunning. Ahem. In that dress.”

Hand paused on the car door, you were rendered speechless for the second time that night. Glancing at Victor, you were relieved to see him staring straight ahead; it embarrassed you to know that one little comment could bring so much heat to your face.

“Thank you…Victor.”

* * *

Victor’s voice stayed with you long after his car pulled away into the night. Still you stood, hands splayed against your apartment window as you willed your heart to calm.

For there on your coffee table, lying amidst mounds of tissue paper and an open gift box, were a gorgeous pair of red-soled stilettos and fine stockings. But what touched you most were ink and paper, Victor’s thoughts conveyed in fine cursive:

“Shoes and stockings to replace the broken and torn. I had meant to give them to you as thanks for dinner that night but, as you know full well, was denied the opportunity. Please accept the dress as an apology for the tardiness of my token of appreciation.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, the final line:

“Wear all three to dinner on Friday.”


	5. Dinner Is Served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner is served...come and get it ;) - NSFW, in case you didn't already guess LOL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of "Served," and the "big bang" as promised LOL. If you're still reading at this point, please accept a giant THANK YOU from me for supporting this story! - XOXO

_Click. Click._

The sound echoes in the empty space, dark save for the light streaming in through the windows from a single streetlamp outside Souvenir’s storefront. And if you were really quiet, you could hear the proprietor swearing under his breath.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

_Click. Click._ Victor flipped the light switch again, but to no avail. Tables and chairs continued to cast black shadows that merged with dim corners. You step closer to Victor’s tall, broad frame.

“Perhaps a fuse blew? The streetlamp outside is still on,” you offer, trying to be helpful when you sense his expression growing surlier by the second.

“Stay here and don’t move. I’ll check.”

“Victor, wait! I…I’ll come with you.”

Hurrying forward in your new heels, you stopped short of grabbing onto his sleeve. Senses heightened in the dark, you catch Victor’s breath hitching. And when long fingers reach down to thread through yours and squeeze reassuringly, you are thankful for his surprising tact in not pointing out a grown woman’s irrational fear of the dark.

“Watch your step.” The command in the bass of his voice is familiar in an unusual situation. You never thought you’d see the day when you found Victor’s bossiness comforting.

Hand in hand, you gingerly make your way to the kitchen, the path lit only by Victor’s cellphone. And when he lets go to examine the fuse box, you wonder if you imagined the reluctance in his grip as he pulled away. Hand clenching into a fist, you try to preserve the sensation of his palm against yours for a while longer.

“Still not working?”

Victor sighs. “No.”

“We can always go elsewhere to eat, Victor. It doesn’t make sense for you to be cooking in the first place when this meal is meant to make up for my botched apology dinner.”

“No. I won’t stand for any interruptions this time.” The vehemence of his reaction makes your eyes widen. Voice softening, Victor continues, “Help me look for candles.”

“Shouldn’t you know where they’re kept? You own this place,” you ask, sweeping the beam of your smartphone’s flashlight over murky shapes in cupboards and drawers.

“Should I also know the contents of every storage closet in LFG Tower? I own that too.”

“Don’t get cheeky, _Mr. Li._”

“That line should be reserved for you.” Then, after a beat of silence, “Mr. Mills stocks the restaurant and does most of the prep work. And I told you not to call me Mr. Li.”

Chuckling inwardly at how easy it was to rile this man up, you finally notice a few candles at the back of a shelf. Tiptoeing in your stilettos and extending your arm, your fingertips dance towards them to come up an inch short.

Then suddenly, a bloom of warmth on bare skin: Victor’s hand is on your lower back, exposed in the dress he had chosen for you with desire in his eyes.

The man presses closer behind you, one long arm reaching overhead for the candle while the other snaked around your waist. There, in the darkness, his proximity silences every thought but one:

How wonderful the hard lines of his body would feel melded against the curves of yours.

Lingering a beat longer than propriety would’ve dictated, Victor’s breath is warm and comforting at the crown of your head. When he finally pulls away, the featherlight drag of his fingertips across the skin of your back sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine…and blood rushing to his rapidly hardening cock.

For it had taken the stoic CEO every shred of self-control to remain composed when he first laid eyes on you that evening — perfection incarnate in an updo and that red dress, smiling to see him roll up in his Bugatti. And when he noticed the tendrils that fell loose at the nape of your neck, the sudden weakness in his knees made him grateful to have already been seated.

Sharp and short-lived, the smell of sulphur assails your nose when Victor strikes a match, light throwing amplified shadows that danced across the walls as the wick of a pillar candle caught flame. When you lift your gaze to see his handsome face framed by a golden glow — the violet-indigo of twin irises intense as he held your gaze across the wavering light — you forget how to breathe.

So...slowly pressing his lips to yours...Victor does it for you.

Satin flesh growing more and more passionate as it slid against yours, Victor’s attempt to convey the sincerity of his intent leaves you sighing into his kiss. And as his tongue traces the seam of your lips before slipping in to explore that smart mouth, one large hand finds itself in your hair and the other on your chin — tilting to deepen the kiss.

“I’m famished.”

Deep voice husky as he whispers in between planting kisses at the corners of your lips, you are on the verge of protesting about how Victor could even be thinking about food at a time like this when he clarifies, “I’ve hungered for you for so long.”

The neediness in his voice is surprising. And incredibly arousing.

Pulling back, you study his face: pupils wide and pink dusting the sharp angles of his cheekbones — the heady mixture of desire and vulnerability in those features seeping into your consciousness to transform into a yearning so basic and strong. One that only Victor could satisfy.

Perhaps it was the absurdity of the situation you found yourselves in, dressed to the nines in the kitchen of an empty restaurant. Or maybe something whispered in dark corners of the dimly lit space to goad you on. Because somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought of crossing the point of no return excited you, made you brave…bold enough to take what you wanted.

And you wanted him.

So you place your hands on his chest to palpate the pounding beneath firm muscle, the heat of his body permeating the black dress shirt that did little to conceal his physique: hard masculinity beckoning to your fingers to run down that perfect torso until they traced the V-shaped angles at his hips, leading towards the buckle of his belt.

Then, looking up at Victor’s flushed face, you ask, “Help me out of this dress?”

Gripping the ledge of the stainless steel prep table, you sigh as Victor presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, nimble fingers unhooking the clasp just below with ease.

And when silk starts to slip from skin, you look over one shoulder to throw a coy glance at the man before bending to slide the dress the rest of the way down — the lascivious sight earning you a barely suppressed moan from Victor’s lips.

“Leave those on.”

He stops you in the middle of reaching for the suspenders on your garter belt, eyes roaming approvingly over the sight of you naked save for the stockings and stilettos he himself had hand-picked…and the thin strip of black lace that teased from between your legs.

“Perfect.”

Mesmerized by long fingers undoing button after button, you barely register Victor’s comment as you watch, frozen, as his shirt falls from broad shoulders. And when his muscular arms finally wrap you in their embrace, the touch of his bare skin on yours propels the blood through your veins to animate you once more — bending to the will of his hand burying in your hair, strands tumbling loose around that grip as he drew you in for another kiss.

On the lips.

Notch of your neck.

The sensitive tip of each breast.

Breath trailing hot as his lips kissed lower and lower beneath your navel.

“Hmm, Victor!”

Voice coming out in a coquettish whine so foreign to your ears, embarrassment is the last thing on your mind as you run your fingers through Victor’s thick, black hair; your sole concern focused on encouraging the man kneeling between your legs, his hands securing you against the tremble in your knees as he tasted you through the lace of your underwear.

“Delicious,” Victor murmurs, and with each lick, your inhibitions shed layer by layer until you thought nothing of reaching up to caress your breasts, hand squeezing and fingers pinching as Victor’s name tumbled from your lips over and over again, drawing his attention to a sight that finally pushed him over the edge.

Lips shiny with his saliva and your arousal fell on yours aggressively as Victor rose and gripped the supple flesh of your ass, easily lifting you onto the satin lining of his overcoat, haphazardly thrown over the prep table.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, stockinged legs spread wide at the ledge and the heels of your stilettos knocking periodically against the side of the table as you watch Victor step out of his dress pants and underwear, wrapping one hand around a cock whose sheer size had you swallowing hard.

And when he sees you bite your lip, hair disheveled and lipstick smeared, one hand reaching down invitingly to hook your panties aside and reveal pink flesh that gleamed slick in candlelight — Victor is pulled completely, irrevocably, into your spell.

“Je t’aime,” Victor whispers in your ear before kissing you once again, greedily swallowing each of your moans as he slowly enters you, the wet heat of your pussy testing the limits of his control.

Stopping now and then, he admires the exertion and ecstasy written on your face as your body worked to accommodate him, muscles clenching and relaxing around his hard cock before you gasp to feel him finally buried to the hilt, your back arching at the sensation and nails digging into his shoulders.

Vaguely aware of the way Victor’s vigorous movements made the candle flicker at the side of the table, you found that you could care less if the room were to be doused in darkness again. Because every time you tried to open your eyes, the lids grew heavy with pleasure to hear his deep voice moan with almost animalistic satisfaction, the sound so erotic in conjunction with the wet echo of skin slapping against skin.

Heart already racing a million miles a minute, you almost expire when Victor unwraps your legs from around his waist to prop them against his shoulders instead, hot tongue licking along the length of your stockinged calves as he presses lower, deepening the angle at which he fucked you relentlessly.

And when the hard plane of his groin rubs against your clit at just the right pressure and frequency, the convulsions that overwhelm your body draws Victor’s pleasure from his, liquid heat mixing with yours as you savour the weight of Victor’s head resting on your chest, his hair damp with exertion.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re not hungry, Victor? I’m starving!”

Victor smiles at the sight of you searching through the fridge in Souvenir’s kitchen, trying to salvage whatever food you could…his unbuttoned dress shirt revealing more of that perfect bottom in an enticing game of peekaboo every time you bent over to examine the contents of the crispers.

And still you had on those stockings and stilettos. _Great investments, really. _The CEO gives himself a mental pat on the back.

“YES! There’s pudding! Although the bowls aren’t nearly as interesting this time around,” you prod Victor as you approach him, tapping a spoon mischievously against your lips, curved up in a smile as you eyed him pulling up his boxer briefs.

“Hmm. I suppose you did work off enough calories tonight to merit dessert.”

“You know, you really are much more handsome when you keep your mouth shut.” Rolling your eyes, you ignore the furrow in his brows as you lift a spoonful of pudding to your lips, thinking you were so cool with your retort until you realize that some had dripped onto your chest.

But you weren’t the only one to notice; Victor already had his gaze fixed on your bared breasts as he approached, bending to lick the pudding off in one slow, sensual motion before saying,

“Actually, I think second helpings are in order.”


End file.
